The Bridge to Being
by DW-chan
Summary: Kurapica decides to return to his homeland with the companionship of Senristu and Leorio, and they encounter another survivor of the Kuruta massacre: an escaped criminal who Kurapica learned to loath as a child. Somehow fate had many other plans for a young blacklist hunter, a music hunter, an aspiring doctor, and a convicted Kuruta warrior, and none of them will be easy.
1. One: The Stranger Upon the Road

*HxH Disclaimer*

**Author's notes of Edited Version:** Yep, I've decided to revive and continue this fic again after a whole of TEN years! So many has happened since then… both in my life and in the Hunter x Hunter universe ohohoho… However, while I've made some changes to what I've posted years ago, I'm still keeping most of my original plans for this story, and may not include updates, such as incidents which happened in the GI Arc. I'm still preserving my old author's notes if it calls for them. :P

Author's Notes: Er hehehe... In case ye chaps remember I am in debt of the second weird and bizaare tale... but that would have to wait, maybe till the wee days before Christmas. o.O I'm quite in the mood now for something more serious, so hehehe bear with me. I'll splash a bit of comic relief here and there...

HxH CAST: (all turn their heads to LEORIO)

LEORIO: (in an unbearable, irritating whine) Wwwhhhhaaaaaat?!

Author: Things to look out for? A bit of bloodshed, a bit of angst, a bit of drama, some swearing, maybe a bit of "romance", and of course, a bit of comic relief-

HxH CAST: (all keep their heads turned to LEORIO)

LEORIO: (in a state of acquisition) I'm being oppressed, am I?

HxH CAST: (wordlessly and enthusiastically nod)

LEORIO: (waves a pathetic-looking hanky quite forlornly, in defeat) Somebody please love me...

Author: (sardonically) AAawwwwwwwww!

(note: don't misinterpret me, Leorio fans. i'm fond of the guy. admit it, it's absolutely delightful to poke fun at the blessed creature... ^_^*)

The Bridge to Being  
by: DW-chan

_**One: The Stranger upon the Road**_

On the far end of a seashore, a foreigner was being cleansed from a disease. The folk which took their abode by the sea one night encountered a man by a bottom of a cliff; it was a poor creature, his face seemingly bruised beyond repair, with sunken cheekbones, emaciated features wrapped in less than respectable clothing. When they first discovered him they thought he was a cadaver which somehow tore itself free from its body bag, a disgraceful accident committed by a careless ambulance, perhaps, on its way to the morgue. But no; the man was alive and in a trance of half-sleep rudely disturbed by the commotion brought by the sea-faring villagers. The man had barely any opportunity to speak, and the sun was so hot that his brain fell into a fatal slowness, and he was thoroughly agitated.

The villagers drew back when they saw what they saw: was it a new plague suffered by their mountain-faring neighbors? These villagers were superstitious folk and believed that the sea held a cure, so as soon as the man had been able to walk they dragged him to the shoreline and unto a boat, and when the boat was rowed far enough they dipped the injured foreigner into the water's depths. The man had become bewildered by this ostensibly cruel treatment; after a series of methodological attempts to purify the patient of his ailment the fisher-folk drew back, a great veil of failure looming over them. The victim had not been cured.

The victim was still feverish and delirious from the swelling crimson of his eyes.

It was his eyes that startled the villagers: it brought the men to inoculate themselves with the sign against evil and death, while the women reached the peak of near-hysterics; and the children, after a glimpse of shock, ran back to their homes and behaved themselves, if it just so came to happen that this live corpse was an omen of the world's end, or something similar. The man, were he a more healthy subject, could have been very handsome, with his hair of spun flaxen that hung down the sides of his face like fine harp strings, and the thin, shapely lips and even with the sodden nobility of his gait. But it was his eyes that overshadowed the hopeful geniality of his person-his eyes were a fiery red, more fearsome than live burning coals, more intense than the streak of fire-wrought metal hammered in the forge. The man's pupils were immensely dilated and they carried the appearance of rubies freshly delivered by the sun. They immediately dreaded this symptom; and in silent fear they nursed the man, the latter locked in isolation with a new batch of clothing and food.

After a week, the man emerged.

The fisher-folk heaved a general inflection of sighs when they perceived that the man's eyes lost their unlawful scarlet brilliance, replaced by a very wholesome shade of beryl; the color was very noteworthy for it was also the color of the sea. They then realized that he came from afar, farther than they had deemed to imagine, and was certainly not a citizen of the mountains that surrounded their domain. He was the first, true foreigner that had set foot upon their grounds. The stranger, interpreting a sense of gratitude attempted to voice it out; but try as he might, it seemed as though an awful shadow had seeped into the folds of both his mind and conscience and he was lost for words and meaning. He was situated there, dumbfounded, an example of an irreclaimable human being.

He left the shore and its inhabitants, remaining the puzzle as he was when he had arrived.

He thought he was the sole survivor of the Kuruta genocide.

It _had_ to be genocide. There had been no one left; for if there had been, then perhaps the ruins had undergone even a bit of repair by now. There was no one left; for if there had, then at least some of them would have come for him. For ten years the world had neglected his existence, as he lay buried in an underground cell of a barricaded prison that kept him from the light of the sun, from another human voice, from another human touch. His had been a crime that should have not been. It was self-defense, he had pleaded to the authorities. He did not mean to stray from the bounds of the Rukuso region. He so had purposely slighted the fact that he did not belong to the outside world, that _anyone _from the Kuruta race did not belong to the outside world-or else their isolation would have been nothing but absurdity and pretense.

It was self-defense, he had pleaded. He was certainly convinced it had been so. He really had not meant to kill those who had assaulted him because of his outlandish features and his remote nature. There were some in the outside world who despised foreigners. Unfortunately, he fell upon their hands. Though he lacked the exposure of affairs unaccustomed by his race, he tried not to appear as a fool. It had not been entirely his fault, for the denizens of the Kuruta nation had sharp tongues and even sharper temperament. That group of men, he recalled, had been insulting his unpolished manners unfit for the city. What they spat at him veritably had not been the friendliest of words; in a spur of a moment they were wounding his dignity and the dignity of his tribe. One pointed word he spat in return to retaliate caused the men to lift themselves from their stools and initiate a brawl. He had skills, of course. He meant to _only_ disarm them to quiet their assaults but his mind was hot and everywhere he turned, he saw everything in choleric shades of red.

He killed them, in a murderous feat he himself had thought never to experience committing.

The men had relatives and there were those who had witnessed the violence; consequently, the favor did not rest upon him, for he was an unfamiliar face in a land that hated strangers. An immediate trial resulted in immediate conviction, and he was sent to prison. Somehow he had managed to send messages of confidence to his fellow tribe members and in turn, they had been sent replies of assurance. _We will come for you_, the last message to reach him had said. There had been always a strict bond among the Kuruta members. Their very actions were fueled by forces of love and patriotism. When a promise is done, it _will _be carried it out. He had received that message in the fourth year of his imprisonment; in his seventh year, they had not arrived. A sinister atmosphere had hung about him in those years of waiting. It would only take death to free a Kuruta tribesperson of his or her pledge. He had suspected the worse.

And the worse had come.

In instant madness he dug his way out of his cell. It was an act of desperation and after long months of doing nothing but that, and of longing nothing but freedom with it being only a hair's breadth away, he drifted from the reaches of sanity and mechanically, he worked. In those years of labor there had been incredible unrest in the town whose prisons he had been confined in. It was not an ordinary town; it was the capital of a state known to many regions in the area. There had been civil hostilities being exchanged between politicians, the military, and the citizens against the politicians and the military as he worked, so outside there was chaos. Surely they would pay little heed to an escaping prisoner. He took every advantage as he dug, and dug, and dug: by hand, by makeshift spade, by spoon, by bowl, by crusts of rusting metal. When he had finally crawled out of the worm hole he had created for three years, he did not feel the warmth of the sun on his face. He did not feel the newness of the air his lungs took in. He was deaf to all sound and blind to all movement. He did not revel in the glory of his long-sought freedom. He had simply deteriorated-in body, in mind, and most especially in spirit. Dragging his broken countenance, he left the town forever. Many political enemies were being executed that day. There were far more important prisoners to take care of, so even as there were those who saw him passing by in his slow, unmeasured walk, they let him be. Perhaps they did not even realize that they had a prisoner such as him until the moment they saw him again. The world had neglected his existence for ten years.

It was time to return to Rukuso. He had chosen his destination by mere impulse. And when he did return, he found nothing, and no one.

He remembered that he was still in a half-deranged position of mind when he beheld the gaping ruins. The great river that had separated and guarded their region from the rest of the world for as long as he recalled had dried up. He was wondering where it went. Maybe its disappearance had been yet again only one of his delusions. But no, the wilderness that covered the ground where his nation used to stand was very real.

The smell of the ocean was not far. In his boyhood he would follow the river and cipher the tributaries that flowed to a much bigger body of water. In drifting blindness he retraced those steps and at the back of his head were the images of ships. Not all Kuruta peoples were fond of sailing but they had built ships as necessity, not for recreation. Yes, they must have taken the ships; there must have been some, even a little, who had made it to the ships, and sailed, sailed to where he may someday reach them. But the docks, the docks were in a sadder ruin than the extinct village. It looked as though the docks had never been built. He remembered that there were five ships, thirty passengers to each. There may have been more ships, but he knew his people do not revel in extravagance. They only created what was needed. And five ships were all that was needed. He only sorely felt a blow when he came across the rotting debris of wooden planks-ship parts. Out of habit, he plundered into the remnants and counted four mastheads. Four ships had been destroyed. But where was the fifth? A tremor shook him. That was all the reaction he emancipated. He did not expect anymore hope to arise. When he grew conscious of his surroundings again, he realized that he had returned to the village.

"You there! Who are you?" came a cry that hailed his attention. When he looked, he discovered that he was being addressed by perhaps a guard who patrolled uncharted lands. In the back of his mind he would have accused the guard of intrusion; instead, he had only asked in a pitiful voice: "Wh-what happened -?"

He had not been able to finish but the guard seemed to have understood him at once. "-To the inhabitants of this land, you mean? Why, they're all dead! Dead for years now. About five years, I suppose. I've heard only a few reports about it, but I don't remember all of them Mass deaths, you know: a plague, famine, killings-I'm not so sure. You had not answered my first question. So who are you?"

The revelation had been so succinct, so bluntly administered, so _inhumanly_ enforced that a new breed of stupefaction overtook him. The guard had stated the news simply as though he were greeting an acquaintance on a fine-weather day. He only had the remaining strength to reply: "I... I... am... I am... no one... I am no one."

"Hmph." The guard wheeled his horse, for he was mounted, and shook his head expressively, with a distasteful look on his face, and turned away, ordering his steed to a trot. There had been an abundance of madmen the past few years; perhaps that squalid, wasted creature was only one of them. He looked innocuous enough, though. There was no need to report him to the headquarters.

As for the man, the seemingly only living Kuruta tribesperson left, he fell into a frantic search and scoured the ground for protruding earth, for any sign of grave sites. He found none. In the stead of burial mounds, however, he took to consideration a pile of charred bones collected under a roofless stone house. The vegetation was unusually lusher there. Vines seeped through cracks in the walls and extended their wiry fingers towards the remains of the once-noble Kuruta race. Who could have done the rites of consuming the bodies of the dead? Cremation had been a custom practiced by the Kuruta for many generations. The mystery did not last for a frightening darkness shook him; suddenly he broke in a dead-run, and fled.

He must have run for days, and in those shadowy moments he lost his footing once, twice, and a final one sent him toppling down a cliff hundreds of miles away from the borders of his home which nearly ended his days (and sometimes he wished it had). This man was nine and thirty years of age.

And now, upon the old roads the stranger trudged. He carried with him an air of despondency, still barely recovering from the shock of losing his entire nation. It was a small nation, true; but in that nation lived those that he had valued more than his own life: his young wife, his infant child, his brothers, his sisters, his mother, his father; cousins, uncles, aunts, nephews, nieces-the man shielded his face as he felt his head drown in thoughts of despair and shame and guilt. From his throat emerged a momentary sob, the first tangible strand of emotion that flowed from him after a long repression.

The man plunged down the road, unmindful of where it would lead him to. It took him a lengthy while before he finally realized his solitude, his poverty, and his homelessness. He also realized, after days of traveling devoid of conscious direction that he was as good as starved. He resorted to pawn the good overcoat the sea-faring village women had given to him as a mysterious parting gift, and obtained money for a night's meal and lodging with perhaps enough to spare till the next five days. If this is what had been willed for him, so he must accept it. He must continue to live, then. He will find decent work, and feed, shelter, and clothe himself. He would do so in the years to come.

And then he would plan his revenge. But the shock of reality struck him to the core that the wound he bore in his being remained in him till the rest of his days. He was forever a lost man.

The impact of trauma was potent enough to cause him to forget his own name. Perhaps he only remembered the names of his wife and only child; but even after many long instances devoted by just clearing his memory in search for his own name, he did not succeed. So he christened himself with a new name, and fumbled in the world's existence since then.

In stray nights his wife and child still called to him.

Ey now, that was a rather lengthy introduction (well, for me, that is… *sigh*)!

Now don't get all impatient with this introduction (hint: no, it's not an alternative universe/reality fic)! The next chapter's coming soon, so just sit tight, will yah? ^_^

Cheers!

DW-chan:-)

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	2. Two: The Brook-Child

*HxH Disclaimer*

Author's note: The fic's dominant timeline is almost two months after the York Shin auction and the Genei Ryodan Arc. Woo-hoo. Yet another of those fics that tackle Kurapika vs. himself vs. Genei Ryodan vs. past. Hooray, hope ye chaps don't get sick of it! =P

Anyways, off we go!

The Bridge to Being  
by: DW-chan

_**Two: The Brook-Child**_

The date marked on a calendar that hung somewhere on one of the rich walls of a study in the Nostrad Mansion marked the second day of November. It was said in a more religious than supernatural scale that on that particular date the souls of the dearly departed instituted momentary visitations to remind the living of their once subsistent presence in the physical world.

A boy of no more than seventeen years of age was settled in one of the mansion's rooms, in the bodyguards' quarters. The mediating hour between midnight and dawn had commenced, and the spirits had begun their allotted journey to check on the living. There was a number of translucent children that hung by the bedside of the said slumbering youth, and their tiny blue faces mirrored immense sadness and estrangement from all spheres of worldly reason. Later on they were discovered to be the ghosts of young Kuruta tribespeople, keeping attached vigil upon their young and living relative. They stayed because their sudden departure from the earthly plane had harshly disoriented them, and until now they did not know where else to go, or if there was such as concept of heaven or any spiritual place fabled to console souls such as theirs. Their only guide to recognize who they still were (or had been) was this young boy, and there were moments in their visits when the temptation to take him with them had been great enough for them to attempt ventures such as touching his face with their cold fingers until a deadly chill would overcome the warmth of his body; or instances when they would try to insecure his footing when he walked in the steep and the slippery so he could eventually lose his balance and fall, and hit his head. But no, the children loved him, for five years ago he was their cousin, their brother, their playmate, their comrade, their fellow countryman. They valued the fact that he still had not joined them, so they clung to him; and he, unconsciously, in every waking moment of his life, clung to them.

The elders had moved on, but the children stayed.

Before the clock struck the first hour of dawn, the child-spirits knew that their hour of departure was at hand; it did not mean that they finally realized that there was indeed another level of spiritual existence where they may proceed after their earthly torments. They will continue to stay; only their opportunities for manifestation will be very limited. It had been decided among them that before they would leave their dear relative's bedside they would proclaim their exit by a declaration poltergeistic in nature.

As morning broke, the little ghosts beheld the sleeping boy's bedroom door, and with a burst of energy, gave the door three, heavy knocks. It was time to say goodbye, for now.

The knocks echoed across the bodyguard's quarters and reverberated more evidently in the ears of the young boy. Upon the third knock, Kurapica burst into abrupt wakefulness.

There was a distinct bleakness in his room that had little to do with the passage of air from an open crevice, but it had left as soon as he had sensed it. Kurapica sat up, short of breath, and drenched in sweat. In his sleep he saw the familiar faces of children. In waking, he witnessed the gray brightness of the first sun's rays that flew from the windows and adorn the room's interior. He trembled a bit from the past chill, and like someone dumbstruck, cast a lasting glance around the room like an open-mouthed simpleton.

It was in that moment when a _very_ precipitous yet_ very _heavy depression washed over him.

The rest of the household were still deep in the recesses of their beds but Kurapica had resorted to step out of his room and walk into the woods that lined the outskirts of the Nostrad mansion. In the woods, he found solace in the sight and sound of a brook which resided there. And that was where he stayed until Senritsu found him.

"You're fond of this place, aren't you?" Senritsu's warm and kind voice gently penetrated the droning comfort which the sounds of the woods emitted. There was a whispering smile that floated with her words and when Kurapica heard them, he lightly acknowledged her presence by turning towards her a few degrees' worth. But he did not say anything. He dipped his fingers into the cool water and stared at the flowing crystalline liquid. Senritsu sighed. The boy had once more built about himself defensive barriers which took special labors to step into.

"You're up early. I happen to have heard you well when you left your room." Her little faithful soul tenderly refused to give in to the boy's aloofness, whether this aloofness was deliberate or not. At least let him know that he was not alone: that was one of the most important aspects of bringing small life to his pallid cheeks, or a miniscule gleam in his tired cerulean eyes.

There were the sounds of chirping birds and scampering rodents: it was autumn and the trees were bursting with the different shades of red and gold. An acorn would spill near the boy's feet once in a while; seven or eight acorns had fallen and he still had not stirred. Senritsu listened to the drumming of her friend's heartbeat and felt as though it beat in her own chest. There was a certain octave in that set of heartbeats that conveyed a very potent sadness, and in a chance of empathy Senritsu felt inclined to submit to it as well. But she dare did not, for the sake of her young friend. Had Senritsu been a less steadfast person she would have fallen into tears, there and then, with that much weight of tribulation that throbbed in the boy's soul. This was the very first time she had felt loneliness in that kind of intensity, particularly Kurapica's. Oftentimes she listened to hatred and vindictiveness in his heartbeat but very seldom, disconsolation. In fact, it was the small but notable amount of disconsolation which surrounded the boy that had drawn her attention to him in the first place, when she had initially encountered him in a train headed to this state not long ago.

What the heartbeat revealed the face did not. Kurapica's expression was blank, as though he looked _through_ everything and anything that came into plain sight. It was as though he were looking beyond the essences of things and his sense of sight took him to voyages in his head, which eventually reached a dead end. He would blink only in intervals of several minutes.

There was little activity in the Nostrad mansion within the day's duration. Mr. Nostrad spent entire hours in his study. Neon had decided to oversleep and when she awoke she did not feel like shopping for the weather was too unbearable "for my complexion," as she had lamely exclaimed; but she primarily had a slight cough which she did not want to worsen by exposing herself to the harmful elements and was generally displeased with it. So she sulked in her chambers, accompanied by her maids, where they played cards for the rest of the afternoon until dinner.

No one really noticed Kurapica's disappearance, for when he re-issued himself into the bounds of the mansion at seven o' clock in the eveningi, the rest of the household did not skip a routine and only greeted him with their automatic _good evening, sir's _out of sheer habit. Senritsu followed suit with a heavy heart, having not succeeded in her efforts to attain any more responses from him, other than the almost hopeful instant when he had turned to her in the slightest. The boy's desolation was rather very infectious that after dinner, Senritsu had situated herself in front of the piano and played an array of tunes to break even the most composed of hearts (when she felt that she should be doing the exact opposite, which was to play a cheerful piece or two). The night closed without a remnant of a good sob elicited from most of the members of the Nostrad household. Even Neon, in her seemingly unconventional manner of ignoring dampening emotions, orchestrated a bawl.

The next morning, in the same hour, Kurapica was found by the brook then, the day after that. There was a certain gravity the brook held towards the boy which Senritsu could not decipher. So far she still had been the only one who observed her friend's lapses and strange behavior. Even the pattern was uncertain, for on the second day, he returned to the mansion earlier, about five o' clock, checked matters with Bashou and the rest of the remaining bodyguards in a most quiet approach possible, and secluded himself in his room till the next morning, when he left for the woods again. On the third day, he failed to appear in the mansion till about ten o' clock late in the evening, and the weather had been at its worst. It was only to Kurapica's advantage that in those days Neon had not called for attention and shopping sprees for she was preoccupied with her cough and her new wardrobe. What disturbed Senritsu most, however, was that he neglected his meals, so she arranged for a servant to bring the meals to him. In her soft, conceding voice she admonished that particular servant not to inform the rest of the household about Kurapica's condition (who would not suspect, having to bring meals outdoors three days in a row?). Even then, he refused to eat. The food had been laid there for the small beasts to consume. When the servant returned for the empty plates, he only silently questioned the odd relation of an empty plate with a lean, pale, generally unhealthy-looking boy. Senritsu feared a kind of sorcery about, and withheld the remedy of playing on the flute for as long as she suspected it. His heartbeat had been a steady drone from the second day onwards, containing no octaves of emotion at all.

She resulted to call Leorio if on the fourth day Kurapica would take off again. Meeting that agreement, she did give Leorio a call.

"I would have told you sooner, but I was afraid he'd not consent to it," were Senritsu's first words when Leorio had acknowledged her call. "But I can't bear it any longer. He's on it again, and I don't know else what to do about it..."

"Senritsu, is that you? What happened? Why? What do you mean?" Handing Kurapica over to Senritsu's care had been a mutual pact done when Leorio saw her and Kuripica off for their flight back to the Nostrad's from York Shin. Considering the circumstances, it was not surprising at all that Senritsu would call this soon. He was only perturbed on how she sounded. In the calmest voice possible, Senritsu related everything.

"I know three days isn't suspicious enough for most people, but I know what I heard by the sound of his heartbeat, and I didn't like it. I'm suspecting some preternatural cause," Senritsu added, conveying her insights further. "Either that, or it's some kind of psychosis. I don't want to believe either, but there you go, he's out of himself."

"Psychosis?" Leorio was startled by that conclusion, but he had paid attention to the symptoms so he promptly fetched a medical encyclopedia. After a brief silence, he talked again, finding an answer.

"Melancholia. That's what it is! Intense depression of long duration. Causes are usually either when the a patient had suffered a great loss, like a death of a loved one, or any form of abandonment; or when the patient is suffering natural, biological processes, like old age. Well, since I'm pretty sure it possibly _can't _be the second, I say it's the first. And I say it's pretty damn obvious too, don't you think, Senritsu?"

"Yes; I just don't understand why he had to undergo such depression _now_. He's a strong person. I've seen it, but I'm only sorry that I haven't known him long enough to support any of my present impressions."

"Well, I could almost say that it's a good sign. Finally, he broke down, let go; do you know what I'm saying? He's been repressing a lot, Senritsu. Putting on that tough demeanor for the sake of sanity. But then again, I'm not a psychiatrist. I haven't even gone through a fourth of my medical proper..."

"A _good_ sign?" Senritsu was a bit more taken aback by the doctor-to-be's perception of the matter. "No, Leorio, I believe it is _not_ a good sign. I'm afraid all it would take is for you to confront him now, to justify my anxiety."

Leorio at once sympathized with the maternal streak which might be present in every young woman and apologized right away. "I'm mighty sorry! You see, I'm a_ guy_, so I may have confronted him in a different way, you know. Like shake him-no, _pound _him-to his senses. But no, wait, that's too violent; look, I'm sorry again, all right? Okay, here goes, the book advices some treatment-"

"Shock therapy." Senritsu's voice lost its resolution, and suddenly she felt very tired.

"Eh-what's that? Shock therapy?" Leorio had trouble focusing on what to do first: on handling the phone or the number of medical volumes spread before him.

"That's how melancholia is cured, sometimes, if I remember correctly. I've read about people who needed such therapy when they continually remain outside the real world-but am I not correct?" Her voice dispatched the opposite-she hoped she was wrong.

"Ah-yeah! How'd you know? It says right here. Yeah, shock therapy. Oh well, you know, there are other options, like psychotherapy, psychoanalysis, insulin coma shots... uh, yeah, psychotherapy sounds good!" Leorio hoped it was not too late for him to realize that the practice he was striving for involved some prescriptive and even antiquated animosity sometimes. Judging the list of treatments that were mentioned a while ago, he also hoped Kurapica would be the last, difficult challenge.

"I'm terribly worried, Leorio." The affliction in Senritsu's tone could no longer be suppressed.

Moved by Senritsu's unwavering concern, he tried to hearten her with small pieces of friendly comfort, trusting that she felt the weary yet sincere smile on his lips as he spoke. "Talk to him, Senritsu. You're doing fine. He'll snap out of it, you'll see. You may be the only one who can help him do that. I trusted him entirely to your care, and I still do." He also wished to manage to thank her for her compliments back at the York Shin airport, before she and Kurapica took leave.

"Yes, all right. I'll try again today. Tomorrow, if this still goes on-"

"It won't. Now you two take care."

"Thank you, Leorio-kun."

"Yeah, yeah, you're welcome. You're welcome."

* * *

On her way out, Senritsu encountered a well-groomed Neon Nostrad; the timing was far from impeccable, for the girl had finally decided to seize the day and go shopping once again. Her cough had left her and her complexion was fine. Her employed position compelled Senritsu to momentarily abort her mission and regard her mistress with all the patience she can muster.

"Hello there," Neon brightly spouted when she caught sight of her only female bodyguard. "Say, I'd like to go out today. So where're the other bodyguards? Where's the captain? What's his name-Kurapica, is it? Yah, where is he?"

Senritsu was quite unprepared for this confrontation but she tried her best, nonetheless. "I'm afraid we may have to leave without him, even for today. He-he isn't well, miss."

"What? He's sick?" Senritsu was rather affected by the genuine concern the girl conveyed. "Really? Are you sure? That's okay, we have a family physician. I'll have him called-"

"No, miss! Please-" Senritsu interposed. As much as possible, the option of calling for the physical presence of a physician should be avoided. She placed into mind the inconceivable treatments which may bring Kurapica more harm than help; that is, if the diagnosis of this certain physician matched those of Leorio's. Shock therapy or an insulin coma shot was the last thing the boy needed. No; this will not do.

"No? Why not? Well, personally I don't like seeing doctors too, but if Kurapica doesn't get well soon enough, he's in big trouble, cuz I might as well have Papa get someone else to be in charge." This was one of those throat-constricting instances when the pampered rich man's daughter tried to exercise her authority over her subordinates. Though Senritsu knew that the girl was not wholly serious about that consideration, she understood that her mistress was not at all compliant with the situation.

"Yes, I know. If you would allow him at least another day-"

"_Another day? _If I call the doctor right _now_, Kurapica can maybe make it for two o' clock! Two o' clock! I want new pairs of shoes! I _need _new pairs of shoes!"

It was Eliza, one of her maids, who spoke for Senritsu. "I'm afraid, Miss Neon, that it isn't at all easy to get well. After all, pardon me for saying so, miss, you needed three days to heal your cough."

"Well, does he have a cough too? Well, does he?" Neon demanded of her encumbered bodyguard.

"No, miss Neon, but he-"

"It doesn't matter. All right, I'll give him another day. If he doesn't get well by then, I'll call the doctor, and no one can stop me, and I'll have Papa go talk to him and everything. Okay?"

"Yes, miss."

There was a hint of disgust that tainted Neon's moods after. "Now I don't feel like going out again. It's that ugly weather. Look! It's getting all frosty again. Why doesn't it just _snow_ while it's at it? I'm going to bed."

Relieved of her post, the troubled Music Hunter's soul slowly made its way to the woods and to the brook.

* * *

Senritsu approached slowly, as though she were careful not to frighten a tiny animal which she wanted to befriend. She was only equipped with the flute which was as good a spoonful of medicine as it was an instrument. The autumn cold ravaged the smallness of the woods but the boy gave no move to shield his own self from it. He was standing now, and not bending over the brook as he did in the past days. Senritsu sensed something different now in his heartbeat; it was something like clouded reverie. This gave her some comfort-her friend had calmed down a bit.

She now discerned no harm in playing a tune, so she did, and it contested the very sweetness of a songbird's trill. It was a young tune, suited for young ears, and lifted troubled hearts. With a moderate wave of Emission, she let her aura flow to the golden richness around them. The tune, just as it had done before, projected a vision: an endless grassland, where one can run free, unhindered, in blinding, joyful speed if he wanted to. She had begun to concentrate on the second form of her skill when a ghost of a voice tugged at her, irresistibly, but very gently.

"I hope you don't think I'm mad, Senritsu."

These were the first words she heard from the boy after quite some time, and as she ceased her playing, she felt the wholeness of gratitude and warmth spread to her chest. She was overwhelmed that she took her time before she gave discretion to reply. "I-I had thought you were… I'm sorry..."

"I don't blame you. I thought it was madness too at first, but then I realized that..." When he spoke, he had not turned to her. The brook was still the aim of his vision. "...that... I was only thinking, in a way I've never thought of doing for a long time."

"You are _lonely_." Those words came in their own volition, but Senritsu had been so accustomed to the truth that she had not deemed to hide it from anyone, most especially this troubled youth.

"Yes, I am." His voice sounded like a stain of a once beautiful and vibrant color. It was light and expressive and had an extraordinary poignancy that if a dying man would hear it, he would remember it even as he had gone to the clutches of death and passed to the next life.

Senritsu attempted more conversation with only the faintest hesitation. "What bothers you, Kurapica? This is something which you've not made known to me. Are you willing to talk about it?"

For a moment, the boy neither moved nor responded. It was as though he had stopped breathing altogether, and was now only made of stone. Senritsu sheathed her hearing to that echoing heartbeat, making sure that it had not left him, as though she were warming her frozen hands to a fire. She bade him time, even as she knew that she only had but this day to try and cure him.

"It was their fault that they died, you know." Kurapica professed this like a little child blaming a playmate who had cheated him of a trivial game. "It was their fault. The elders-how they lured us children to the consequences of their pride. That was five years ago, in a morning like this." He turned his head about a bit, and talked matter-of-factly, like someone stating a fact known to all humankind. "I was with the other children, when we discovered that the river was drying up. It was an enormous, angry river, Senritsu; it was. It protected our village from the outside. That created within the tribe an expression of 'us' and 'them'; that the 'them' where those of the outside world, and 'us' were in the inside. But the river was drying up, so we were not safe anymore. Anyone would be brave enough now to cross the receding waters. We children, we knew about this, so we informed the elders at once. But of course, _we_ were _children_ and _they_ were _elders_-'us' and 'them'-don't you see? I love my nation; that is true, very true, but its society? Sometimes I loathed it. They thought that we were only playing, that's what I remembered. It was summer and it was sometimes natural for water levels to lower a little. There was drought that year as well. I thought we were being punished for something I did not know, only to realize that a greater punishment arrived not long after-"

And then, another lapse of the boy's blankness, of his distant stare and expressionless face. The brook glimmered with its own tune, but its tranquility was a stark contrast to the turmoil in the boy's heartbeat, that she thought the sound of the brook was ghastly.

"It was their fault. And we children paid for it." And he said no more.

An hour passed, then another; a meal had been brought and taken away, but still Senritsu persevered, she, a faithful soul, and waited if an event the boy would still choose to cast away the weight from his heart some more. What he said after four long hours seemed to be worth the wait. It was all that was needed to be known. It was more than just a piece to fill the puzzle-it was in itself an entire, solved puzzle.

"I want to go home, Senritsu. Finally, I want to return again. I'm not afraid anymore. I'm going home."

* * *

End of Chapter 2

* * *

Reviews, please? (holds up hand as though begging for pennies on the street)

And do be so kind also as to point out some mistakes... I'm always in trouble of doing those... .

Cheers!

DW-chan:-)


	3. Three: The Preparation

*HxH Disclaimer*

**Author's Notes:**__This is the last chapter I've posted since 2002. _ I've considered discontinuing this fic before, since it was barely read and reviewed, but that's an old mindset… eventually I've learned a thing or two from old quotes by two known authors (Tolkien and L'Engle): there are those who write stories because they'd like to read those stories themselves. To put it more simply, you should be author of the stories you yourself would like to read. This fic happens to have story arcs I myself would like to read, even though it is fanfiction and based on a world and characters originally created by someone else (Togashi-samaaaa! Ahem). So here I am, spending happy sleepless nights again, bringing an old monster oh I mean creation to life. ^-^ I hope you enjoy as well—that'd be a great bonus, and especially when I like sharing my ideas to other readers and authors out there as well. ^.^

The Bridge to Being

by: DW-chan

_**Three: The Preparation**_

"It's homesickness, Leorio-kun."

"Homesickness? How did you know?" There was a refreshing gleam in Leorio's voice. "Did he finally talk to you? That's how you got to know, right? See, I told you could do it!" The young man instituted such pride in his voice that his addressee could not help but be drawn to the warm humor of it. Senritsu smiled. She had taken more obligations to inform Leorio about the progress, and felt rather indebted and foolish at the same time for suppressing her intuition. Had she not, Kurapica may have been cured, partially, if not entirely from his depression a long time ago.

"Yes, I followed your advice. Thank you again. The problem is, he has decided to leave right away..."

"Then _let _him leave right away!" The brusque enthusiasm in Leorio's tone revealed a commanding bearing which came next to Kurapica's, and made Senritsu rather alarmed with his ease.

"I know that would be best for Kurapica as well, but you see, Leorio, he just can't leave like that. He is currently the captain of the guard and might make worse impressions from our employer-you know, dereliction, and all that."

"What's that?"

"Dereliction. Negligence of duty." She was also fastened to the fact that it had been she who had suggested that he be appointed to his present hired status, and realized its untimely incommodity.

"Ah! Well, now... just tell Mr. Nostrad that he's on leave. You know, like 'sick-leave'-um, pardon the term-those kinds. I'm sure even bodyguards have privileges such as those. Don't you have a manual, or something?"

"I'm afraid not. I'm only quite as ignorant as you are concerning the privileges. But I'll try. And another thing is-Leorio?"

"Yeah?"

Senritsu's tones displayed a small amount of guilt, though the act attributed to it was beneficial for her young friend's well-being. "I know what you're thinking-I know that both of us can entrust Kurapica with our lives, but-can we entrust him with his own?"

"Aha! Good thing you've brought that up! I'd like to accompany him myself too. I can take my books anywhere, you know. Tablets and such. Besides, winter break's coming. They'll eventually let the students out, anyway. I'm sure I can account for it, coz I'll be leaving earlier than the rest of the batch."

The gracious young woman braced her emotions with a strange humor. She was certain that neither of them really meant to think that the boy was unscrupulous; but without supervision, he can be more than rash. Leorio's and her presence would be more of a boon than a bane. She incited another arrangement. "Shall we make plans?"

"Sure! Of course. I'll probably be leaving tomorrow night. Is there an airport anywhere near there, or do I have to take the train?"

"The train, I suppose."

"All right! That's that. I'll give you a call when I'm there. And, uh-please don't tell Kurapica _yet _about my arrival, will you? I-uh-still wanna keep my head."

The brook may have already spent its mouthful of secrets, for Kurapica did not return to it again. He was in his room, with his eyes towards the light of the window, which looked towards the front of the mansion, when the woods were somewhere located at the back; the front, needless to say, faced the gargantuan iron gate which legalized the residence from the roads. Though his eyes portrayed anticipation, his actions spoke more quietly of it, for even eager as he was in carrying out his last statement, he felt that he had more to bear than just provisions for the journey.

A knock at the door.

His voice was parched from disuse, but he had returned to his more normal self and addressed the world as he had addressed it five days ago. "Who's there?"

"It's Senritsu. Are you busy, Kurapica? May I come in?"

"The door's unlocked."

It was not a concise answer; nevertheless, the girl took it carefully and proceeded with her daring in the same manner of discretion.

"I hope I wasn't disturbing you." Senritsu's tone was as benign as usual, but with that accustomed amiability was a small uneasiness.

"Not at all."

"That's good. For I've a matter to talk with you about-" The matter, to stress a bit, had been the subject of her phone call with Leorio; only, of course, with Leorio out of the picture at that moment, as agreed.

Kurapica, who shunned most words when they become disagreeable to him, found himself listening until Senritsu was finished. He had re-established the keenness of inspection and noted his companion's steady stare but wavering voice. It was odd to have someone who may know you almost as well as you know your own self through the utilization of uncanny abilities and still be afraid of you. Putting this to mind, he reacted to the young woman's proposition.

"You want to accompany me?"

"Yes."

"You're aware that I'm returning to Rukuso."

"Yes."

"It's a good five thousand leagues away from here. Perhaps more."

"I'm aware of it, Kurapica."

"And with winter approaching, it will be difficult. Aren't you aware of that too?"

"Yes, I am."

The girl had replied to his every retort with a precision that left him a bit stricken. Kurapica was persuaded that she had used a bit of her skill to wean him into complying, but was surprised when he could not express anger about it. Senritsu had, after all, aided him in his course for revenge, and he might have damaged her in the process, just as he might have done to Gon and Killua, after shamelessly asking for her help, and she had been of great help. What she was offering now was not mere companionship, but friendship. It was his one weakness.

It was only more of a misfortune that the boy had known this particular friend long enough for him to realize a trait of hers which he grew affectionate about, only with an amount of austerity. "There's no turning back, Senritsu."

"Metaphorically, yes; but of course, you'd want to return to this job, wouldn't you?" It was a small cunning in her part and the boy regarded it with a light hand.

"If it would still do well for my quest for the eyes of my people, then of course, I'd report back here. But don't revolve things around Senritsu, and stop answering my queries with more questions. If I'll let you come with me, will you promise me something?"

The girl felt a rush of heat to her face in acquaintance to the boy's clever way of unstitching things. "All right," she replied calmly, with no plans of betraying her scant mortification.

"I'd be grateful if you'd allow me to _lead_ the travel. I know you think my judgment awry at times, and you-well, _worry_... But I also know that I'm responsible enough for the things I do."

Senritsu's eyes swelled with a brightness that conveyed a weight of good humor. "I promise. I'm sure you won't let any of us down."

The young captain of the guard's appointment with his head employer left the latter rather misty-eyed. Mr. Rait Nostrad was not man who one will have difficulty communicating with, especially if he or she has won some of his favor. Though laden with the trafficable affairs concerning the Mafia and other business propositions, he gave the boy a full ear. He was rather intimidated with the boy's sullen yet acute nature that addressed people older than him as though he were of the same age as they. Mr. Nostrad had his own persuasive reasons to entice the captain to remain in his post, especially when the holidays were no more than a few weeks away.

"My daughter will need your services more than ever," Mr. Nostrad said. "It's the time of the season when she becomes relentless. After this week, you may have to accompany her everyday with her shopping, I'm sure of that."

Senritsu was present for Kurapica's word for a leave concerned both of them. She approached the man with audacious elegance. "That's true, sir. But do the bodyguards not get privileges such as taking a leave?"

"If this is to lift you from worry, sir," Kurapica interposed, unabashed, "I have already arranged the recruitment of new bodyguards. By this weekend, we may be getting results."

"Will you not be here for the screening?"

"I'm afraid not, sir."

"How long will your absence be?"

"A month at least, sir. It will take some time."

Mr. Nostrad was thoughtful for a moment. "I don't see why I should have any right withholding you from your home, despite the fact that I hold a rank higher than yours." He turned to Senritsu. "And we will be missing you as well. It's only seldom we have female bodyguards qualified. It's a pity we had to lose the other in the auction." Senritsu acknowledged this with a patient bow of her head. The man turned once more to Kurapica. "Who shall you then appoint as your assistant while you're gone?"

In this case, strangely enough, the boy produced a miniature smile. "There seems to be no other option, but I trust Bashou to run matters for us."

"Well, I trust your judgment as well," returned the beleaguered man. "I'm only glad there will be no more out-of-town excursions that may lead my daughter's life to peril again. All right, you have my permission to leave. But I expect both of you to report sometime after a month, as you say. Kurapica, you will still remain the captain of the guard, for your service so far has impressed me. And Senritsu, your position will remain yours as well. Your wages will be ready by tomorrow morning. I, ah- I hope you don't mind a bit of benevolence... I have added a bonus, as your allowance. Travel is difficult in winter and I only hope that my two employees will be well-provided for."

"Thank you, sir."

"When will you leave?"

"Tomorrow, sir. We didn't mean to be this abrupt, but before bad weather becomes a threat to us, we must at least have half of the journey done. I hope you don't mind."

"Well, no." Mr. Nostrad rose from his seat behind his study desk, approached the two young people and laid a hand on each of their shoulders. "Best take care. Don't hesitate to give a call at any time. And don't hesitate to deploy commands to the other bodyguards, even in your absence. I have associates on the way in case you need help. Is that clear?"

"Understood, sir."

The success of this appointment would have ceased to commence had not Kurapica imparted his clarity of mind, a clarity which held its course temporarily. By the time the sun had set, the young man was intent on being pensive once again, though his soundness of mind was reassured when he was found bent over a map of intertwining nations in the dimness of the mansion library.

There was minimal packing to be done, with the necessary equipment already purchased. Even in his state of privacy, he had mentioned before retiring to solitude that he would remain at the disposal to anyone who wanted to see him. Bashou, Senritsu, and two more bodyguards who were somehow spared from the auction fray took this to heart and sought an audience from the boy; though their intentions were not completely duty-related. One of the bodyguards, Rinsen, offered a helpful load of herbal medicine; and since Kurapica had been too absorbed in his own way to give notice, Senritsu thanked the kind soul. Plans for recruitment were given one last deliberation, and Bashou was cooperative in his own fashion, having been illuminated by a preliminary shot of good whiskey.

Senritsu informed the youth that their heartbeats were still instilled with dependency on him, and had to convince him to give them a small seminar of detachment. Throughout the activity, he held an expression that directed itself to somewhere farther than the faces of the people that surrounded him.

"You have made an influence on them, that's why they think they can't operate well without you," Senritsu conferred to him afterwards, on their way to the bodyguard's quarters. "You will become many a great person when you grow older, Kurapica. I hope you'd keep that in mind."

The only reply she received was the boy's breathing, and it was a young and innocent kind of breathing, like that of an infant's in its sleep.

"I'm glad you don't wear your chains, even for now," Senritsu added. Some months ago Kurapica had been in awe of her talkativeness, and she had proved it countless times already.

"And I'm glad Miss Neon did not fetch a doctor," said the boy quietly; but to his companion, the words were rumbling thunder.

"How-"

"It's how my mind works, sometimes. I'm aware of more than one thing happening at the same time. I may have been deep in thought, but I was not entirely at the mercy of it."

"Are you angry with me?"

The boy replied, "I'm sure you didn't allow that to happen yourself. So on the contrary, I'm grateful." He then drifted once again, and after a uneventful silence, he added in no more than a pained whisper: "I'm ill in many ways, Senritsu. I just need to go home."

Somewhat eased from a sturdy, exhausting weight, Senritsu smiled in assent. "I understand."

If only the boy would be more open to the fact that another traveling companion was on his way. Leorio's call came in the afternoon of the next day, but that is getting too forward in the events.

The morning of the eighth of November had more frost than usual. There were trees which were nearly bare of leaves and the diminutive birds that still flew high in the autumn that settled upon the branches gave shivers of desolation before flitting away. The barest of trees seemed to have augmented their deprived selves beside the windows of the halls of the bodyguards' quarters. There was a bit of a joke formulated by the rambunctious Bashou which he amused (often terrified) inquisitive guests with, that the bodyguards' quarters were divided into two corridors: one which went straight from the main hall, where Senritsu resided, and the other wing which turned right, a dismal wing, "Where we men stay, of course (he had then placed a emphatic arm around a less amused Kurapica). And it's haunted, I tell you. It's _haunted!"_

The man had not really been joking, after all.

There were the child-spirits, who grew more and more fervent in ushering themselves to frequent visits. Their voices produced maimed and hallow speech. They perceived and even anticipated Kurapica's departure, and had gathered once more in his room, unseen in their cinereous forms which were not even the substance of mist. The boy sat on his bed, ever so still, facing the windows and contemplating the vapor that clouded the panes. A few bolder spirits reached out to touch his hair; only then did the boy flinch, and blinked: there could have been tears in his eyes, but then again, his cheeks were dry.

He resumed his pace as though he had just merely took time to look out the window for a brief glimpse of the sky, gathered his things, hitched the weight upon his shoulders and walked out of the room. The child-spirits blew a wind of an unheard call: but contrary to what was to be expected, Kurapica turned to their direction and his gaze lay fixated, as though he had found a long-sought object. This ceremonial gesture was interrupted by a twitch of an eyelash and he turned away, and walked down the corridor to the main hall. Before he continually left, he had cleared his throat to softly utter to the air around him: _I haven't forgotten any of you._

The spirits remained waiting at the back of the youth's mind.

Kurapica and Senritsu departed with the monumental tidings of those whom they would be leaving behind in the mansion. Even Neon Nostrad was flamboyant in her impressions towards this sudden departure, and felt quite envious that he recovered in a pace she could not contest (Better _already? _squalled she). There was smug delight in having been relieved of two bodyguards only to feel dismay when she realized that she had rather preferred them over a new batch of recruits. It was eventful, in a way, for she had flung upon the captain the _complete_ and _unabridged_ hardbound edition of the Oxford Dictionary with the threat of doing the same to a seven-volume set of marketing management primers if he and Senritsu did not return and she had managed to find them.

"I'll have you two as my bodyguards any day," she proclaimed, "as long you keep yourselves from being replaced by a bunch of morons!"

Kurapica was in a less jovial mood, and was also _very_ upset. On their way to the train station with the complimented service of Bashou and the car, the boy declared in a state of vehemence: "Did you see what she's _done?_ Flinging the Oxford Dictionary at us! That... amazon! Why, I'll never forgive her!"

"I'm sure she didn't intend to be abusive. Besides, the herbal medicine and ice will do well to that bruise on your eye," Senritsu offered, slightly distressed.

"Imagine treating a book like _that! _You know that _anything_ published from Oxford is _sacred!"_

Senritsu and Bashou could only retreat in pondering the boy's priorities.

Bashou had left informally with the aid of his roots of possessing exotic blood, and in a disturbingly handsome manner took Senritsu's hand like how a gentleman does to a fine lady and gave it a parting kiss, and the girl stood rather confounded; on the other hand, the burly man was more at ease with a fellow gentleman, and consequently tweaked the boy's nose with the fondness of an old acquaintance (and Kurapica should have been suitably outraged for the man's lack of respect for his captain if not for Senritsu's timely interruption). Before Bashou whistled (or weasled?) away, Kurapica did spare a moment to firmly address him with last-minute orders.

"Remember, Bashou. No biases with the recruitment. For all I know, I'd be returning with buxom women as the crew."

The man then chuckled uneasily. "But if they happen to be capable?"

Kurapica only darted the bohemian soul with a grim stare which presented a statement, and having encountered the boy's moods before, the man assented with a gruff sigh. "All right, all right, no biases." And, having accomplished his acts of farewell, Bashou strut out of sight.

It would be two hours more before the train arrived, bound to a destination which would consume less of a quarter's worth of the entire journey to Rukuso. Senritsu felt she was having a derring-do battle against time by suggesting the boy to take his lunch while bracing herself for Leorio's call upon his arrival. The hours had been calculated and schemed a good deal between the doctor and the musician which would hopefully result that on the hour before Kurapica's train departs from the station, Leorio's would arrive in it.

"Lunch?" inquired Kurapica, as though he were speaking a forgotten word. Registering the autumn chill and the discomfort of cold air assaulting an empty belly, he gave a curt nod and asked his companion, "What would you like to have?"

"Um, anything." Senritsu struggled to display her best behavior, which would least likely arouse the lad's suspicion. With a nearly absent-minded air, the lad nodded once again, and promptly went off to fetch the food. The station clock's face shone a meager five minutes before noon when Senritsu's phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Ey, it's me! I'm at platform seventeen. Train arrived earlier. So where are you?" It was odd for the girl to hear the same voice, which was Leorio's, emit from the receiver and simultaneously echo a considerable distance from where she sat.

"Station C, platform five. I'm at the benches beside the vending machines. Kurapica's left a moment so you might as well hurry and make use of a quiet entrance." Their scheming had reached its end; both parties heaved a sigh in all good humor, with a little anxiety.

"Ayt! See ya!"

There was a familiar mark in the air, and Kurapica analyzed it as being a person's aura. Confirming his memory on the last time he had chanced upon that aura, which was a clumsy, friendly kind when that certain person's guards were down, the youth emerged from his sullen stupor and bent himself on harnessing his dismay, which somehow bled to a rising temper. Having returned to the benches where Senritsu waited for him, he stopped a few paces away from the rows of cushioned plastic chairs.

He was not in his usual coat and tie, and he was garbed in a simple parka with its hood half drawn over his head, with his ears absurdly decorated with dazzlingly bright orange muffs. Had he not known the older youth as a friend, Kurapica would have taken the leisure of entirely abandoning every thought of regarding the former's _very_ existence. The young man was equipped with an irritating grin that tried in vain to cover a mischievous deed. But the young Kuruta would not accede to such folly.

"What're _you_ doing _here?_" There was something of a small growl in Kurapica's tone, similar of what might emerge from the throat of a dog suppressing the urge to leap and bite.

Leorio donned himself with airs and presented himself with the habit of salute. "Well, I just happened to drop by, so I decided to check on you, of course! Hehehehe!"

The boy had no plans to appear convinced. He shifted his focus to Senritsu, and darkly raised a brow in obvious _demand_ of an explanation.

"You may punish us after we had helped you," stated the girl plainly in her inherently mild tone, though a convicted blush dashed her on the cheeks.

"Yeah, you know, punish us! Like the iron rack, right-or the stocks, hehehe!" Leorio was in an evident state of garbled wits mixed with the sheer joy of seeing a friend once again.

"Help me?" Kurapica approached with deliberate steps in prominent disapproval, though inconspicuous enough not to create a scene. "Help me? Or _restrain_ me?"

"Uh..." Leorio began.

"Um, yes, actually, a bit of that too." Senritsu confessed, preparing for the worst.

"Senritsu, my permission for your companionship is no guarantee for another's." The boy was trembling in his efforts to speak reasonably without flaring in a murderous stance.

"Aw, come on, loosen up and let me come with ya!" The poor young medical student was in a more fit state to whine, and ended in sounding unbearably piteous.

The next hour was resolved with the three boarding the two o' clock train. Kurapica gifted his two companions with glares of plans on future torture strategies. Senritsu, sensing his heartbeat, flinched a little.

"Jailers! That's what you two will be."

"Aw, enough already!" Leorio cried.

"I just don't know what to call you both-either my conscience or my government!"

"Well..."

"I demand some sort of autonomy, hear?"

"But..."

"Plotting behind my back..."

"Hehe..."

The three C's-Comments, Criticisms, and

Cheers!

DW-chan:-)


	4. Four: And There Was Fire

*HxH Disclaimer*

**Author's Notes:**I've watched the 1999 version and am now only beginning with the 2011 version; also I have but a mere synopsis of the most recent film _Phantom Rouge_ as a guide for the fanfic so far, so most of my references will be from the 1999 version. However, I'll include a bit from what I know about Kurapica's past in _Phantom Rouge_.

And yea I know I know, there already are tons of fanfics out there on versions of how Kurapica's clan got wiped out by the Phantom Troupe, but my own version has somehow been sticking in my mind and it's got its place in the thick of things in my ficcie here (and tweaked a few things in the earlier chapters to accommodate some new idears). :P So after a LONG wait, here's the fourth chapter. ON WITH IT! (le whiplash)

* * *

The Bridge to Being  
by: DW-chan

_**Four: And There Was Fire**_

_The outside world is full of perils._

The adage had been taught to every younger generation of Kurutas as they came along; from the earliest childhood to their dying day, this belief remained ingrained to the core of their minds. The Rukuso region, while undoubtedly isolated, still had a vastness which would keep a man walking for days until he reached the outskirts, where, by sheer force of habit, he stopped to turn back, to return home, and never venture further.

But that did not stop the children from testing the limits of what they know of Rukuso. The outskirts have been heavily guarded by a monstrous river, ever flowing and roaring like a dark, gargantuan beast with an insatiable appetite. The waters were frothy and nearly black, like heavy smoke, and yet there they were—the Kuruta children, the bravest of the lot, turning the glade from where they can hear the river hiss and thunder into a playground.

While no grown-up guardian was in sight for the children, the river itself seemed the unlikely guardian, containing their curiosity within the bounds of Rukuso. Tales were told that if an unsuspecting soul would try and cross the river—miles wide and perhaps miles deep, more like the ocean than a river—leviathans and monsters would emerge from the deep, swallow you whole (perhaps nibble on a limb first, depending on who was telling the tale), and take you down into the depths, never to be heard of and seen from again. The children believed it. Looking at the river for many years, it was a tale easy to believe. But a few doubted the tale, or knew that the purpose of the tale was to scare the children into obedience, along with the adage their elders taught them.

Kurapica once ventured close to a ravine as a small child. He had been hardly eight years old but had the stubbornness of an oaken tree refusing to bend to a fierce calamity. He had been trying to prove to his friend, Pairo, that there were really no monsters. "They're just stories," he proclaimed. "Watch!"

Stubbornness won over intelligence at that one instant, and an incident came when Pairo had to save his friend from falling completely over the ravine and into the roaring depths below; Pairo himself had fallen instead, but not into the water, but onto stone. Pairo survived, but was rendered nearly crippled and blind. Even then, Pairo, Kurapica, and a handful of others—not a withering gale would send their foolhardy courage toppling onto the edge. At twelve years of age, they were the same curious young souls in search for some derring-do and adventure.

The elders knew that Kurapica was a child of no ordinary mindset. No secret was safe from him. Wide-eyed curiosity grew into silent perceptiveness, and while he still sometimes questioned rules and "stories," his sense of purpose of how he fit into the larger scheme of things in the Kuruta community was growing. He was catching on with the adult members with a hurriedness most children his age took for granted, or simply did not acknowledge as long as they were savoring the vestiges of childhood.

Once upon a time, one of the greatest mysteries Pairo had asked Kurapica when he was given permission to take a small step to the "outside world," a neighboring village, was: "How are you getting past the river?"

Kurapica's joking reply would be, "Fly." They had seen contraptions and machines which only operated outside the Rukuso region that could leave the ground and take onto the skies in books, but that's where the possibility of the existence of such mechanisms ended.

At that time, Kurapica only had less than a week to figure out how to cross the river in one piece. Only a selected few among their people knew how, but that was part of the test of being capable of venturing outside the region's bounds. This was a mystery Kurapica had not fathomed yet, so one afternoon, he found himself by the river's edge—far from the ravine, but close enough for him to contemplate the majesty of their region's formidable sentinel. But today was different; something was amiss. The river—the river was not as it should be, or as it had always been.

Pairo and five other young boys were with him, but stayed on the ground while Kurapica sat atop one of the tree's branches overhead. School was over for that day, and in the years of their childhood it had been more of a ritual to go to their old playground. It was in the peak of summer, but the heat was unusually unbearable that afternoon. Some of the boys have stripped to their undergarments. Kaela and Asheewa were practicing with their newly-earned tanto swords; Manu, Hato, and Mattiyo were getting ready to join Pairo, who, in his wavering eyesight and weak legs, struggled up the tree where his blond comrade pondered on.

"Kurapica! You've been up there for nearly an hour now. Me an' the others were starting to wonder if you've finally grown wings and flew off or something." Pairo blinked, and smiled, tentatively stepping on the same branch Kurapica was on.

"Pairo," Kurapica finally spoke, his eyes never leaving the river. "Can you hear that?"

"Huh?" Pairo's brows furrowed. Silence reigned for a moment, but what was there to pause and listen to? There were the rustling leaves. The sound of birds, their flapping wings, the sound of small beasts in their burrows. There was Asheewa and Kaela as they playfully sparred, tanto swords hitting each other in solid echoes. There were the voices of the three other boys. There was the wind.

It was then when Kurapica turned to Pairo, and their eyes met, a mutual understanding of a realization reached.

"I can't hear the river as much," Pairo confessed, a strain in his young voice. "It's always been the first thing we hear when we get here. But now—"

"We can barely hear it," Kurapica offered. There was an intermittent amount of shuffling as Hato jestingly hit Pairo's foot from where it dangled. "What's that?" the boy called. His smile faded into a confused frown as Kurapica descended from the higher branch until he was face to face with Hato. Kurapica's graven look had the severity of near-urgency. "I think the river's _dying_, Hato."

* * *

_The elders had their pride, and we children paid for it…_

His father had told him, in the gentlest but most austere manner, not to raise his voice at the clan elder. His mother watched on, her eyes ponderous; otherwise her expression was unreadable. The clan leader's frown signaled Kurapica a familiar protocol; the blond boy promptly held his tongue, and held his hand out, which the elder hit considerably with his staff, as a form of chastisement. At this point such "punishments" were petty for Kurapica, and while they no longer worked on him, it still served as a way to herd in the other boys.

Pairo flinched on how the elder had hit Kurapica's hand harder this time. A small welt began to form on the boy's palm. The other boys couldn't really voice out to confirm what they saw with Kurapica when they decided to check on the river. The roars were like trickles; rocks from the deep which never showed their faces before lay open and dry as bones as the water lazily lapped at their sides.

That night, Kurapica's father took him aside, and explained that the clan elder did send some watchers to investigate what the children had observed; the news was true, but the elders claimed it was nothing to worry about, and life must go on. "It is unusually hot this summer, son," Kurapica's father intoned. His father is mostly a gentle soul, but a paternal figure nonetheless; Kurapica wondered how Pairo fared so long without a father, who disappeared when Pairo was but a few months old. "It's just the course of nature when the levels of bodies of water diminish in this time of the year. Please, Kurapica, try to respect—no, _respect_ our elder Antero as best as you could. You're now growing into manhood, and every man knows his bounds and where his honor lies. Disrespecting clan elders is a habit you should break."

"Yes, father."

The man smiled. "Have you figured out the last part of your test?"

Kurapica took a deep breath before he spoke. "Now that the river's dying, I can just simply swim over."

His father frowned and sighed. "Perhaps. However, don't bring up the matter of the river to Antero unless he brings it up first."

The sun was only setting, though it was already nearly deep into the night. Kurapica could get no sleep. He was restless, fidgety, and the heat was making it worse. He remembered the rocks jutting out their bellies into the full afternoon sun. Someone skilled enough would jump from one boulder to another, skipping upon them like stepping stones, even if the rocks were many feet apart. As he fell between sleep and wakefulness, he imagined the river simply parting before him as he took a step forward, feeling the damp earth; there were eyes of river monsters upon him, but they helplessly looked on as the river parted wider, and Kurapica walked on to the other side, sure-footed, and at the back of his mind he was thinking, _Pairo, I'll get you the best doctor so you won't go completely blind and crippled. I'll tell you stories of the outside world. I promise._

* * *

It was dusk of the second day since Kurapica and the rest have warned—they would like to believe that they have warned the elders of their discovery—about the river, and routine took the better of everyone. As Antero said, life went on. There was work around the region for the adults, and there was school for the children. However, like an unspoken agreement, none of the usual brave souls met up at the glades by the river; Kurapica had promptly returned home, as with Pairo and the rest of their friends. It made Kurapica somehow strangely sick in the stomach just thinking of the once-great river wasting away while the best the elders could do was set up a nightly watch. There had always been a nightly watch, but this time, it appeared that the watchers were doubly armed. Antero had not admitted it, but he had taken Kurapica's words into consideration. With the river running low, their best line of defense from the outside world was at its most vulnerable. Kurapica sighed. Antero will never admit it. Pride is pride.

Kurapica thought the sun had set earlier that day, but when he looked out the window, he saw the skies turning into a horrid ashy color. He was simply putting his schoolwork away, only mildly concerned of how the sky seemed to be turning darker by the moment when Kurapica's father barged into his room without as much as a knock. Astonished and bewildered, Kurapica noted his father's gentle features turning as hard as stone.

"Grab your tanto," the man ordered in a manner Kurapica never saw his father use before. "And go get your mother."

"What's happeni—"

"The river has been breached. The worst has happened."

"What-!"

"GO NOW! OBEY ME!"

Taken aback, Kurapica almost swore that his father's eyes flashed crimson for a small while before returning to their sharp, grey hue.

Without another word of query or protest, Kurapica reached for his twin blades from under his mattress to fetch his mother, who was already grabbing her own set of blades as she hastily killed the fire which was cooking their dinner. His father had run off, and to where, Kurapica did not know. And to where he needed to run with his mother he did not know as well, but his mother somehow had knowledge of a drill in dire and pressing times like these.

"Kurapica, I thought this day wouldn't come. But it has. Remember the docks? We'll head there."

"But will father—"

"Women and children," his mother said, almost softly so Kurapica had to strain to catch her words. "Women and children go to the ships first."

And then he heard it. The alarm bells, a clanging chaos. That was the moment he realized that the sky had not turned dark because of clouds. It was smoke, and from where it hailed from, he also did not know. There was only confusion, and the sound of his heart pounding as his mother ushered him out of the house, carefully, swiftly.

They were running away from something, something which they had never expected until this day. They were armed—lightly, but armed nonetheless. Whatever they were running from was an apparent threat.

"Keep sharp, Kurapica."

"Yes, mother."

"They've already taken down the watchers by the river."

Kurapica could only hear his breathing. Where were Pairo and the others? Will his father be alright? Women and children, his mother had said. But he was no child. Not in a time like this. But his mother was there, beads of sweat falling from her brows. His mother, he had to protect his mother. It was getting harder to breathe. The oppressive clouds of smoke began to wash over their part of the village. From the corner of his eye he saw about seven or eight Kuruta men gallop past them on horseback. They were launching both an offense and defense, but more on the latter. Their eyes had not turned crimson yet. Whatever was happening now seemed to have taken everyone in shock, that no powerful, grating emotions were bearing upon them still.

"Kurapica!"

The boy turned to find Pairo running towards him. It was only when Pairo nearly fell to the ground had not Kurapica run to his aid and caught his friend when he realized that Pairo's eyes had turned into their scarlet hue. Pairo's face was smudged with soot.

"Pairo! Where's your mother?"

"Dead."

Kurapica's eyes widened and then it finally sunk. Whoever was after them, meant to do the greatest harm upon them. No wonder they had to flee while they still can. Everything was playing out too fast for even his precocious mind to comprehend.

"She was at the gate with my uncle, Kurapica. She didn't die without a fight—" Pairo breathed heavily, and it was certain that it took all the boy's strength, along with the rush of adrenalin, to take him where he was now in his near-incapacitated state. Kurapica took a moment to look up to find his mother. She was running. Kurapica was running, and Pairo was beginning to run with him. Was that something like a rapid series of explosions from far away? He couldn't tell. Older youths in their mid-teens were instructed to usher the women and children and they were barking orders, gathering very small children into their arms, lifting the elderly up if need be. Antero was not with any of the elderly, Kurapica noted. The old man was far from frail, and he supposed that the elder was among his father who formed ranks of defense to ensure their escape.

"Do you know who's after us? Who's doing all this-?"

Pairo tried to catch his breath; the boy blinked hard, his scarlet eyes ever visible. "There's a bunch of them. That's the news I was told. I didn't see them. I had to run to find you and your mother—"

Why do the docks have to be so far away? It was as if an eternity had passed as they made their way to the ships. During occasional trips to the docks, the way didn't seem to be too far, but that was when there was no danger, and he was then thinking clearly, without any traces of panic. But even as panic surely crept to the nooks of his consciousness, he knew he had to keep his senses intact.

Kurapica heard his mother exclaim something in their native tongue, a word of anger and desolation—and then he saw it. The ships were also under attack! One of them had already gone into flames. There were only five ships. He saw Kuruta men on horseback, but none of them was his father. He was trained to take note of swift-moving objects and beings, and he saw his own people darting about. But he could not make out the enemy they were facing. They were phantoms, shadows—whoever the enemy was. To the unskilled eye it seemed as though the Kuruta were battling amongst themselves. But Kurapica knew that that was not the case.

Suddenly everything grew a beating shade of red. Kurapica felt his being light up with the flames overhead, and he knew that his eyes have finally turned crimson as well. He never felt his senses heighten like this before. Every blade of grass, every grain of sand seemed to stand out, every footstep like a clanging war bell. He lost sight of his mother. He lost sight of Pairo. He was on his own. His heart was in his throat. Where were they? He needed to defend them! He unsheathed both his tanto blades. It was distortion and unrest everywhere.

Another explosion. Two ships have already begun to sail, but a second ship had burst into flames. There was one last ship waiting for them (he still counted Pairo and his mother with himself), and there were a good number defending that ship. The crimson of his vision noticed something in a heartbeat—a strip of movement so quick it rivaled the wind—move from one man to another. They were at the edge of the docks, but each man dodged whatever that darting force was, and then another swift wave of movement—dark, indeed very much like a shadow, and this time, one man was not lucky. Kurapica noted in horror as the man's head popped out of his shoulders like that of a doll's. The severed head dropped feet away from the body that melted lifelessly to the ground. The dead Kuruta's head was immediately snatched away, and with a glint of red disappearing with the force that took it; the man's eyes were a bleeding scarlet forever.

_Massacred!_ They were being killed, each and every one!

"Kurapica! Watch out!" It was Pairo's voice which brought Kurapica to focus back to where his two feet stood. He looked up to see a blazing piece of debris from one of the ships sail towards him; his voice caught in his throat as he leapt out of its way, the heat not leaving him unscathed. His shoulder was throbbing from where part of the debris failed to miss. Sheets of flaming debris where everywhere, along with a ghastly roar from one of the burning ships, a roar drowned by the sound of the flames and the sea, and Kurapica somehow knew it was that roar that brought half of one ship to shreds and had sent fragments of it flying everywhere. Kurapica got to his feet quickly enough to push Pairo out of harm's way; debris was falling all around Pairo and now was falling all around him.

A firm grip brought both the boys back to their feet. Kurapica looked up to the bleeding face of his mother. Her eyes had turned scarlet as well. She was no longer holding her own twin blades.

"The last ship has started sailing, dear ones. Get to it! Get to it!" she yelled above the din of chaos. Kurapica could hear the screams of little children. He couldn't drown out the sound in that fraction of a moment he tried.

"What about you, mother—"

"Leave me and go! GO! Please go!"

A shadowed figure loomed above his mother. She leapt out of its way.

"Bitch, you are hard to kill," a mocking male voice quipped. Kurapica's heart tightened. _No one_ called his mother like that. The red around him began to swirl as he found himself launching at the darkness, hoping that he could at least hit the source of that disgusting voice, but he only hit air, and then the ground, and further damaged his already hurt shoulder in the process. Dumbfounded and frustrated, he rolled himself to get back to his feet, and that was when he saw the attacker—a split second, nothing more: a lanky man dressed black, with long, dull silver hair, a face wrapped in the pleasure of what he was doing, and he raised his open hand, and Kurapica could not be wrong—there was something like a blot, a tattoo on the man's palm in the shape of a many-legged spider. There appeared to be a number within the spider-shaped blot as well, but he couldn't make it out for at that moment the hand fell, and there was red, red everywhere. His mother didn't utter a sound, not a scream, not a cry of pain.

Before the man could even raise his eyes from his fresh kill, Kurapica got to his feet, took Pairo and ran. He ran, half-carrying Pairo with him to the last ship, whose anchor was being lifted from beneath it. He couldn't even take one last look at his mother, but he thought, it was better that way. In his hearts of hearts he also knew that his father was also dead. He and Pairo—maybe Hato and Manu and Mattiyo, who could be dead already as well, for all he knew—they were orphans. As long as they lived, that is, and at that moment he didn't know for how long.

"Jump! Jump!" Kurapica couldn't even recognize his own voice has he bodily lifted Pairo off the ground to reach the rising plank of the ship as it sailed away. The ship had been protected until that very instant. This ship was going to make it. He and Pairo were going to survive!

He felt the heat of someone's blood hit his face as he landed onto the deck. Someone had risked his or her life so that he and Pairo could make it onto the ship. He felt hands reach for him and he cried out, thinking for the second that they were the hands of the enemy, but calmed when the familiar but haunting sight of faces with crimson eyes greeted him. Two were women. The other two were children no older than he was. His burnt shoulder ached; it felt like teeth were biting into his flesh. The smell of death seemed to spread as quickly as the wildfire that consumed the ships and his home. It was over for Rukuso.

"Thank you," Kurapica managed to say to his fellow Kuruta who held him up, and he realized that he had been sobbing. Blindly he took Pairo with him—the last person he had, a dear friend he cared for—and he ran to the inner parts of the deck and to where, he didn't know. There was nowhere else to run and they could only depend on how fast the ship could take them away from the reach of the phantoms that had managed to kill so much of them.

Suddenly, the ship rocked—and there it was, an immense shadow loomed over them that had the shape of a man, perhaps a monster, and then there was laughter that had a certain grating force to it that he and Pairo were surprisingly lifted off their feet, and before Kurapica knew it, he was clinging for dear life on ship's masthead. He cleared his head and his eyes from the tears and the sting of the flames to find Pairo seemingly unconscious on top of the masthead, several inches from where his hand gripped a portion of it. Summoning his strength, he lifted his other hand to grip the masthead as well and pull himself up when Pairo opened his eyes. Pairo turned his head back; the screams of children racked him to consciousness. The monster, the man, was on a delighted rampage, but he seemed to be taking his sweet time as the women took arms and charged.

Kurapica realized that he had lost his tanto somewhere in the fray, but he noted that Pairo had his own pair tucked in his dark crimson tunic now blackened from soot.

"Pairo—"

His friend turned to him.

The ship swayed. Kurapica nearly lost his grip and he clung as hard as he could.

"No, Kurapica! Just let go of the masthead!"

In an instant Kurapica knew what Pairo was trying to tell him. Jump into the water and swim away. _Save yourself, Kurapica_, were Pairo's silent words.

"Pairo, jump, jump too!" Kurapica called, and with a cry he gripped the edge of the masthead hard enough with one hand so he could use the other to take Pairo's arm. For a moment Pairo seemed to welcome the idea as well when the ship rocked again. Kurapica, upon reflex, let go of Pairo's arm and held unto the edge once more.

"What are you doing?" Pairo called out. He turned back. The monster of a man was heading their way. Pairo was taking out his tanto.

"Just jump with me, Pairo! Don't—"

To Kurapica's surprise, Pairo unsheathed both his tanto. In a split second, he threw one blade at the shadow's direction; the shadow uttered a cry of both surprise and amusement, but whoever that creature was, it was distracted for a moment.

"Kurapica, I've lost a leg. I'm not going to make it, so go!" Pairo's scarlet eyes were as bright as ever. The boy was clearly in pain. The blow of the monster's force-filled growl of laughter may have torn the limb apart as they were blown to the masthead.

"Don't be stupid—" Kurapica managed to say. "You can make it!"

Pairo cried in frustration and used both his hands to tear Kurapica's fingers from the edge of the masthead. No success. The monstrous creature shrugged off the momentary distraction, and will soon make its way towards the front of the ship. It—he—seemed to be bleeding all over, testament that the Kuruta were fierce warriors that could manage a hit even when thoroughly besieged.

"You're the stupid one, Kurapica! Just let go!" Pairo cried out. With his sole tanto blade, Pairo began hacking at the edge of the masthead.

"Pairo, stop it! Stupid, you're stupid too—just jump with me!"

Still Pairo hacked at the masthead. And then it broke.

"PAIRO—"

Kurapica lost sight of his friend as a wave of cold darkness washed over him. He had fallen into the depths of the sea. The sea was red. The sky above the sea was red. Kurapica floated under, deeper into the abyss. All thoughts, all emotions, were drained from his little body, and Kurapica thought that he had drowned, and that he was dead as well, and that Pairo gave his life for nothing, and for no one.

* * *

"—next station: Miragros. Please do not leave your belongings unattended."

Kurapica woke up to the sound of an automated female voice announcing their next stop as the train started slowly picking up speed again. He collected his bearings—he must have fallen asleep while Senritsu played one of her tunes again at the request of Leorio—that oaf, where was that oaf?

"Ey, awake already? We won't be getting off till nine stations away!"

Kurapica rolled his eyes at the voice which had finally earned the constant effect of irritating him so. With bleary eyes, he fixed a glare upon said source of vexation. Leorio had thankfully taken off those ridiculously bright-colored earmuffs. The oaf seemed to be enjoying himself, seemingly forgetting that Kurpaica had not yet forgiven him and Senritsu of the conspiracy they managed to make for his benefit—or so they thought.

Senritsu sat next to him, and the young woman wore a gaze of concern. She might have known from his breathing and heartbeat that he was on a verge of dream, or a nightmare. Perhaps a bit of both.

Senritsu was about to speak, when Kurapica sat fully straight, raised a hand and uttered, "I'm fine."

Senritsu shook her head and smiled. They may be dealing with an irascible young Kuruta until nine stations later or beyond, but it may never drown out the fact that there was still a long journey ahead of them, and that Kurapica wouldn't have to face it alone.

There was always more than what fate, they thought, seemed to bargain.

* * *

**Author's Notes:** My writing style obviously changed from the last chapters, but oh well, there's this bit of the story! Pairo and Original Spider no. 4 are Togashi's characters from _Phantom Rouge_. The rest are my creation, such as the names of the elder and the rest of Kurapica's friends.

As usual, comment away! ^^ Much obliged.

Cheers!

DW-chan:-)


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